Stephen Leather - Once bitten

There was nobody on the doorstep and for a wild moment I thought that maybe Terry had escaped but I quickly killed the idea. There was no way on earth she'd be able to get away from her captors. I looked up and down the street. It was deserted except for a few parked cars. I recognised most of the vehicles as belonging to my neighbours, with one exception. A red pick-up.

The hairs prickled on the back of my neck and I slammed the door and double locked it. As I turned round I almost bumped into him. He was tall, almost a head taller than I was but it was hard to judge it exactly because of the big black Stetson perched on his head. He used the index finger of his right hand to push the brim of the hat so that it slipped back and he grinned. It was an awshucks sort of grin, and he looked like a typical redneck, blue and white checked shirt, Levi jeans, a thick leather belt and scuffed cowboy boots, broad shoulders and a tight waist, a squarish face with the beginnings of a beard, and piercing blue eyes. There were wrinkles around the eyes as if he'd spent too much time squinting under the sun. His face had a slight sheen to it as if he was sweating, but then I realised that he was wearing sunblocker cream. He had big hands with thick fingers and neatly-clipped nails. They appeared to be greasy, too.

I stepped backwards and bumped into the door. One of the locks pressed into my shoulder and I winced.

"Who are you?" I shouted, but we both knew I was in no position to make demands.

His grin widened showing the sort of teeth you normally see in toothpaste advertisements. He tucked his thumbs into the belt and let his hands hang either side of a silver buckle in the shape of a flying eagle. It was as if he was daring me to hit him, but I could see how muscular he was under the shirt and knew that there would be no point. There was a time to fight and a time to be scared.

I was scared. Shitless.

"What do you want?" I said, but I already knew what he wanted. He continued to look at me with amused eyes. "I don't know where they've taken her," I said in answer to his unspoken question. I pressed myself into the wooden door, trying to force it to absorb me. "They don't trust me."

"Well now, I can see why they wouldn't," he said quietly. He moved his right hand, quickly enough to make me jump and my stomach muscles tensed involuntarily, expecting a blow, but he simply reached into the chest pocket of his workshirt and took out a toothpick. He began to wiggle it between his back teeth as he scrutinised my face. His silence and his smile were unnerving, I'd have preferred him to have been threatening, or abusive. I could easily imagine him smiling as he ripped my throat apart and gorged on my blood.

"They think I might try to help you," I whispered.

"And would they be right?" he asked, putting his left arm over my head and leaning against the door. He spoke with a slight Slavic accent that jarred with the redneck outfit. He pushed his head forward so that his face was just inches from mine. He let go of the toothpick, leaving it stuck between his back teeth, and put the other hand against the door, trapping me between his arms. Not that he needed to physically hold me there, I was as hypnotised as a rabbit in front of a snake. I looked down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"Don't look away," he said quietly. I lifted my head but after a few seconds I dropped it again.

He took his right hand off the door and gripped my chin, not hard enough to hurt but there was no doubting their strength as he raised my head. He was slowly chewing the toothpick and had the same amused look in his eyes. "Don't look away," he repeated. "Just take it easy and look at me.

Where did they take Annabelle?"

"Annabelle?"

"Terry, then. Where did they take Terry?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know." I tried to look away but his grip tightened on my chin.

He looked deep into my eyes. I don't know what he was looking for, whether he could see the veins pulse in my neck and was counting the beats, of if he was measuring my breathing rate, or if he was seeing how much sweat was oozing out of my pores, but whatever he was doing I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was able to tell whether or not I was telling the truth as accurately as any mechanical lie-detector.

"Did they tell you where they were holding my friends?" he asked, his voice steady, almost friendly.

"No. No, they didn't." It was hard to speak with his hand holding my chin. The words came out sort of slurred.

"Will they allow you to see her?"

"I don't think so. No, I'm sure they won't. They don't trust me."

"Why not? Why don't they trust you?"

"They think I'm in love with her."

He smiled and with a few chewing movements transferred the toothpick across his mouth. "And are you?"

I hesitated, but only for a second. There was no point in lying to him. I looked straight back at him. Right into his eyes, as blue as the desert sky. "Yes," I said. "I am."

"Did they mention a man called Hamshire?"

"The geneticist?"

He raised his eyebrows and stopped chewing. "So they did talk about him."

I tried to shake my head but his hand refused to move. "No, they didn't. But Terry talked about him. Before they got her."

"But the men who took her didn't speak of him?"

"No. No, they didn't." A sudden thought struck me. "They did say they were holding others like her."

"Did they say if they were being held together? Or separately?"

"They didn't say. But I got the impression they were at one place. The ones in the US, anyway."

"Did they say what they were doing with them?"

"Research."

"Sugar was one of them, yes?"

"Yes."

"Did he say exactly what his research was?"

"Genetic engineering," I said. "He's trying to isolate the longevity gene and slot it into human

The man snorted with disbelief. "That's what he told you, huh?" For a moment I felt the hand tighten as if he was about to squeeze my skull and burst it, then just as suddenly he relaxed. "You think he wants everyone in the world to live forever, do you?" He laughed, and it was a cruel sound, loaded with irony. "Think what that would do for the economy, Dr Beaverbrook. Imagine telling a garbage collector he was doing to live forever. Or a secretary. Who'd do the menial tasks in a society where everyone lived for ever? Wake up and smell the coffee. It would be used to keep a few key people alive for ever. People with money. With power. But first, they'd get rid of us. Me and Terry and the rest of our kind."

"I don't understand."

"Sugar is working on a virus which will recognise the longevity gene. Hamshire had seen some of their research papers. He'd been hacking into a couple of Government computers while doing research at Cal-Tech. We think that's how they got him. From what he read, it looks as if Sugar wants a virus that will enter the walls of all cells but only bind to the amino acids which make up the gene that allows us to live forever. And once it binds it will change configuration and become toxic. Lethal. It will hone in on our DNA and kill us, without harming humans in any way. They plan to introduce it into the atmosphere or the water. Sugar's plan is to design a virus with a very short half life, of the order of a few weeks. Within a year none of us will be left, and they can then begin consolidating the gene into their own cell nuclei. There will be a new order in the world. I don't think it would be a world that you would be comfortable in."

He stopped. "I shouldn't be telling you this," he said. He pushed himself away from the door and stood in front of me, his hands on his hips. "You know nothing, Dr Beaverbrook. Nothing that can help me." He looked disappointed, and I realised then that Sugar had at least been partly telling the truth. The vampires had hoped that I would lead them to Terry. And to the rest of the captive mutants. And now that I had proved otherwise I was obviously no use to them. His hand moved forward and I flinched but all he did was seize the door handle and twist it. He grinned at my discomfort. "No, that's not what I'm here for," he said. "If it was up to me, I'd probably do it, but she said no. She likes you, believe it or not. And she doesn't want you hurt. Crazy girl, huh?" I moved out of the way and he opened the door and strode down the pathway. He didn't even bother to look back as he walked to the pick-up truck and drove off.